Alive and not his
by Kazy
Summary: Set after episode 3.09. How to deal with unbearable pain now.


**Disclaimer:** I owe nothing. Please don't sue me. I don't have much money anyway.  
**Pairing:** Logan/Veronica  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** Up to 3.09. Written before episode 3.10 was ever aired. In a world where Logan never could've had sex with Madison Sinclair.  
**A/N:** Thanks a lot to VanessaGalore who beta-ed it for me! All mistakes are mine.

**ALIVE (AND NOT HIS**...)

They stepped into his room, soaked because it was raining like hell. At first he wanted her to go home, because she had already done enough, but he saw in her eyes that she wouldn't let him go home by himself, bloody and hurt. It wasn't like it was the first time for him, but he knew she felt responsible for him in a way. In a twisted, fucked-up, painful way.

Her hair were spread against her back, her neck, and her shirt now hid nothing of her curves; when he saw her that's when he really started to regret his decision not to fight back when she had got out of her car and followed him to his suite.

He settled down on the couch while she went directly into the bathroom, looking for medicine, anything that would clean his wounds. Mercer didn't hold back, even if he had had that "ohh damn" look when he first saw him entering the jail. Logan clenched his fist and looked at his bloody knuckles, and couldn't help a proud smirk when he remembered the feel of Mercer's skin bursting against his, and the little puppy noises Moe had let out when he had walked toward him.

When Veronica had come to pick him up, he was sitting on the floor, looking at them with scorn, hatred and disgust. He hadn't expected her to come; he didn't even know someone had called her, or thought for a second that he would be released. Had he known, he would have cleaned the place, hid Mercer and Moe, because he didn't want her to see them.

And, weirldy, she hadn't glanced at either of the guys, she had just looked at him. Simply. As if they were anywhere but in a dirty jail.

She hadn't said a word. The deputy had opened the door, and he had stepped out. Turning her heels, she had walked, her hand in his. The time they spent walking through the rain had been enough to wet them entirely and her hair wasn't straight anymore.

"Show me your hand," she said gently.

He looked at her, and he knew she was avoiding his eyes. Without a word, he held out his hand to her, and she started to clean it. It stung a little, but the anger he had felt the night before came back when he looked at her wounded face, and nothing could hurt him more.

During the night, he had had the time to think about a lot of things. How he and Wallace had discovered the Kim girl making out with her boyfriend and looking more than consenting for a night of wild sex, how Wallace had got a call from Mac saying Piz and she had lost Veronica for a while, how they had raced back to the party to find it had ended, how Parker had come saying it was Mercer...

At the beginning, it didn't strike him. He didn't link Veronica's disappearance and Mercer's rapist status, he just knew that Mr. Mars had come and got her, that she was eventually safe at home, and that he had just been wrong once more.

And then, when he found himself alone in his huge, cold, impersonal suite in the huge, cold, impersonal Neptune Grand he had started to toss and turn in his huge, cold, impersonal bed, feeling guilty, thinking that Veronica had been right all along, that he was just a dumbass who didn't know how to choose his friends.

It was the second time one of his friends turned out to be a rapist dammit! How could he not see the clues?

"_You're not invincible and you're not always right!"_ he had yelled at her.

He remembered laughing nervously, listening to it echo through the suite. Yes, she was always right. Well, not always, she was never right when it came to him, but for the rest of it? She pretty much rocked at this. And that was maybe what hurt him the most. The fact that she could find out anything on her own, without him. That she just needed him for... For what? The way he looked at her, she could have Piz for love, she had Wallace and Mac for their friendship and willingness to "execute without questions", she had her dad for the strenght.

So what was he for? Pride? "A reformed bad boy"...In a way, she was just like Lilly, and that was what disturbed him, why he had wanted to break up with her.

Because she just was there for the sex, for the status. She was Veronica Mars, the fearless badass who solved mysteries and triumphed from Evil, and got along with the richest (him) and the poorest (Weevil). When he was drunk and bitter, he even went so far as to think that it was surprising that she wasn't fucking Weevil while being with him. Just like that, she would just exactly be like her super dead best friend she had worshipped so much.

He knew it wasn't true, deep inside of him. That she loved him in the same twisted, fucked-up, painful way that she felt responsible for him. But it wasn't enough. He didn't want her to just love him, to be detached the way she was. He didn't want her to be able to turn off her phone when he was calling her, he didn't want her to need to do whatever, he wanted her to feel the same way as him. He wanted her to think about him all the time, he wanted her to want to die for him, he wanted her to _trust_ him. Just to trust him. He wanted to be enough. She so desperately wanted to be normal, but she was doing everything she could to be different.

But that didn't help the wrenching feeling of guilt that had washed over him when, on the morning after, Wallace had called to keep him posted. When he had explained how Veronica had hidden Kim's sister, taken her place, her tazer in hand, waiting for Mercer to come and...And what? What was her plan after that, anyway? Was she dumb enough to think that he was just going to hold up his hands, lay down on the floor and plead guilty, saying that she was smarter than him?

Dammit. That had pissed him off because she might always be right, but she sure as hell wasn't invincible.

It took him two threats and a plea to get Wallace to tell him about her sprint in the hallways, Moe, the drug, and the call to her dad. The whistle. Parker who saved her...

Logan looked up to Veronica's forehead, and remembered Mercer's face. Four wonderful marks of her nails... His bloody leg, with a perfect hole where he had twisted his fist just to see if it hurt as much as it looked like. Never had he been so proud of his little Veronica. For once, being a bitch had really saved her. If only she could use it as a lesson... But he wasn't going to expect that for a little second.

She sighed and his heart ached.

When he had known about the violent part, the guilt had taken over the anxiety. Guilt for leaving Veronica alone, guilt for not being here when he had told her a day before that he would be there whenever she needed, guilt for having a fight with her whereas she was right from the beginning, guilt for thinking about choosing Mercer over her for the slightest second...Guilt, guilt, guilt, and hatred because dammit, he had been just a fool.

They had always fought because of her trust issues, but when she had once trusted him, he had been screwed over and had lost again. And if you thought he'd be used to the feeling...

"What, no lecture?" he whispered.

"What for? I just hope you feel better now."

"Not even."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she mumbled, looking really interested in wiping the blood off his cheek. Her hair was dampening his pants, and somehow he didn't really care. He was concentrating on calming himself, getting the anger and the guilt away.

"How did you know I was there?"

"Lamb called me this morning. He seemed to be having a blast."

"I'm surprised he even let me out."

"What did you do? He wouldn't tell me."

Logan looked in her eyes, and smirked. "I smashed a cop car."

"How junior year of you," she said, slightly shaking her head.

"Hey! I used a baseball bat!"

"That's just you, always going all original."

"Well, what did you want me to do? It was the easiest way to get to them."

"Yeah, well that won't look great on your record."

She drew back and began to tidy the cotton and the disinfectant in the first aid kit. Logan suddenly stood up and the anger he'd tried to keep down exploded out of him.

"I don't give a shit about my record, I just wanted to..."

"To what? Punish them? You did a hell of a job, I can assure you. I'm sure they won't rape anyone anymore, but I'm afraid that it's going to be used against you."

"But I don't care! Why would they use it against me? I didn't do anything!"

"Oh, and how did they turn everything against me for your dad's trial, huh? Every little thing that I did was used! So excuse me if I care but I'd like at least one of Neptune's rapists to stay in jail for good!"

"I did it for you!" was the only thing that seemed to be a good reason anymore. "They... They tried to kill you and I was angry and I needed it!"

"I know who you are Logan, and I'm not trying to change you. I can't say I approve and you can't make me approve for you, but look at what happened to you, they were two–they could have killed you!"

"Are you kidding me? Who are you to say something like that? Changing places with a drugged girl to get to a rapist? Did you think for even one second before dragging her body out of the bed?"

He saw in her eyes that Wallace was being cursed for three or four generations. But somehow, he didn't care because she was there and wasn't aware of what she had just done, and he felt, no, he _knew_ that if she had to do it again, she would do the exact same things. And damn, that made him angry.

"I had my tazer!"

"Oh, yeah, and he would have just stood there, looked at you and said 'oh it's not the good one, I'm sorry what did you do with the other girl?' and you would have jumped and tazered him? And I'm the impulsive, stupid one!"

"I had a plan!" she yelled, and damn, it felt good to have her responding, because apparently beating the crap out of Mercer wasn't enough.

"What, sticking a unicorn in his leg?"

"That saved my life!"

"Had you waited a few minutes you could have been saved in another, less dangerous way! You dragged Mac and Wallace in a party to help you and when it comes to needing help you just go it alone!"

"You and Wallace were gone! And it was an emergency!"

"It's not about emergencies, Veronica, it's about your LIFE!" he didn't even know that he could yell that loud. "Don't you get it? A year ago you were breaking up with me because I was going to get myself killed and now you're doing the same thing! What's wrong with you?!"

"Oh no you're not going to throw that at my face! It was a year ago and it's so not the same thing! You were burning pools, fighting and doing other stuff I don't even want to know about! I was trying to help girls not being raped!"

"And it doesn't matter if you're drugged, raped, and killed! Dammit, will you ever learn? Mercer would have done anything to protect himself and he wouldn't have been afraid to kill you if it came to it! And he's the kind of guy that's turned on by sassy badasses!"

"I didn't think about that!"

"Yeah obviously not! And that's why one day you're gonna get yourself killed and I don't know what I'm going to do that day because even killing the guy won't make me feel better!"

That seemed to cut her off. One second she was about to quip back, next, she was stuck in front of him, hell, mere inches of his face, and she was looking at him as if he had just said that he was seeing pigs flying in a frozen hell. Surprised, and shocked.

One second he's burning in anger, and fear, and next second he feels her lips against his, her curves under his hands. He tastes her tongue, he smells her hair, he touches her hips, he hears her moan, he sees her pushing him against the wall, and damn did he miss her...He's pretty sure she can also feel how he's missed her, even though it had only been three days since they last kissed.

But at the moment, he wasn't really thinking about that. He even decided to stop thinking, especially when she tugged at his shirt. Thinking wasn't even an option when Veronica's right hand grabed his hair while her left was massaging his nipples. He would have enough time to think and regret everything after.

When he was topless, he reversed the situation, pinning her against the wall and deepening the kiss, playing with her tongue, sucking at her bottom lip, his hands crawling over her body as if it were the first time he touched her. When he dipped his head to her throat he heard her whisper and that made him shiver. Because somehow she had felt every single thing he had been experiencing from the beginning.

"I haven't gotten myself killed."

And then she tightened her grip around his neck, and he lifted her, and her legs wrapped around his hips, and oh god she'd better never die.

"I'm alive," she added as if it wasn't obvious, but he needed to hear it, to feel it.

He hadn't been aware of how scared he had really been, because it wasn't the first time, and he hadn't been there, and he couldn't be there for her, and she wouldn't let him and god he hated her, he _hated_ her for that because he needed her and she couldn't love him enough to understand it and accept it.

For the first time, having sex with her wasn't about making her feel, it wasn't about love, it wasn't even about sex, it was just _him_ needing to feel her alive, to see, to be sure. He wanted her to respond to every single touch, he wanted her to shout, to moan, to be here. He regretted the breakup because he didn't have a reason to be looking after her, to protect her, to be with her all the time.

His hands brushed against her stomach and pushed her shirt up. It stuck to her body so closely that it almost looked like it was her skin, but it eventually ended up on the floor in a wet "thump" that neither of them heard.

Quickly enough, her bra joined the shirt and it was as if his lips were attracted to her breasts immediately. She was very sensitive, in every way, even when she feigned to look bored or when she was angry with him. He knew the power he had over her, but never used it against her because of her damned trust issues. But right now, he couldn't care less about any of her issues. It was her fault. She was too self-righteous, too lonely, always thinking it was her versus the world when so many people were standing by her side without a single question.

For the first time, he used everything he had learned from the other girls to feel her feel, flicking his tongue against one of her nipples, while his palm massaged the other one, and his right knee caressed the vee of her legs. She had always said he was a one-task guy, and he would have made fun of the situation if it wasn't so serious to him.

He felt her warm up from his touch, and her skin, sticky from the rain, was sweaty and hot and when he sucked slightly at her nipple, and then nipped at it, he heard her moan and it relieved it in a twisted, fucked-up, painful way.

But it sure as hell wasn't enough. He put her down for like a second, barely leaving her enough time to get rid of her pants, and he was on his knees licking another little bud, nipping at it, sucking at it... Usually, she didn't really like when he went down on her, especially when it wasn't even noon yet and when the curtains weren't closed, but maybe she did feel what drove him. And maybe did she need the release too, maybe had she been as scared as him, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It was always maybe with her. And that pissed him off too.

Angry, he quickened the pace, and he felt more than he saw Veronica slipping slowly against the wall, her legs unable to stand anymore. He reached to steady her only just before she fell. Normally, it would have made him smirk, full of himself, but it wasn't about his skills or whatever. On the contrary, it made panicked him, because she looked numb, and her closed eyes would have made her seem dead if it weren't for her pink (red?) cheeks and her panting open mouth.

When she finally cried out his name (and never had he loved this sound more than this day), his heart stopped pinching, but oddly, it still wasn't enough. The fear wasn't gone at all.

As she ended her orgasm, he took off his own pants and pushed into her in one long thrust. She let out a surprise gasp, but soon her arms circled his shoulders and her head fell in the curve of his neck. And again she didn't look alive to him. He wanted to see her feel, to see her react, not to just drop her head and leave him in the uncertainty.

So he thrust harder, and faster, until she wrapped his cheeks with her hands and looked at him straight in the eyes, pleading.

"Logan, slow down... please..."

But he couldn't, it was beyond him.

"Slow down," she begged.

For the first time, her hands were slow and passionate, while his were fast and demanding. For the first time there were no candles, and no soft music in the background. For the first time there was no darkness, and he could see all of her. And for the first time she didn't look deeply ashamed, or shy. She was just her, and she looked scared by his reaction.

"I had a nightmare tonight," she whispered, still looking at him in the eye, and he slowed down instantly, without even noticing.

She kissed him, and he felt it, the love she kept away from him to protect herself.

"_He_ said I'm _his_..." she added even lower, and her eyes bright with tears.

Immediately, there was a change. He didn't know if it came from him or from her: if it was him understanding maybe for the first time that she wasn't over her own rape at all despite the fact that she had had sex with him many times, or if it was her who finally decided to let him in more than ever. And the bitter part of him couldn't help but notice that she did it when they had broken up…when she felt the most vulnerable.

He felt horrible.

Slowly, he carried her to his bed, never stopping the kiss, never getting out of her body. Gently, he laid them both on the bed, kissed every inch of her face, and he felt her relax under his lips, under his hands.

"Tell me," he demanded.

She knew what he wanted to hear. He wasn't asking for confessions of love, he had lost this hope a long time ago, and he had never been allowed to be a dreamer.

"I'm alive," she whispered. "I'm alive." And she added, shyly, her voice so low that he wondered for a second if she actually said the words, "I'm not _his_."

He kissed her slowly, passionately, deeply, and nothing else existed. There was no time, no place, nothing–just them, and this kiss–and it was enough for both of them. As the kiss went on, he felt Veronica's hips grind against his, and the tension build up between them.

"You're not his," Logan said, and the silence after meant clearly "_you're mine_" but he knew he wasn't allowed to say it anymore.

"You're not his..." he repeated until it was like a mantra matching their thrusts.

"Please don't leave me..."

Logan looked at her, and he knew it wasn't right, that she didn't really think it, she couldn't think when they were having sex. But he felt it too, now, he knew this couldn't just be the end. He knew that she was willing to change, that the three pathetic days apart had been enough for her.

But it didn't sound right either. She was vulnerable, he was vulnerable, and they were both fucked-up, and it never worked because they were too alike, and too different at the same time. Her body was trembling, and she wasn't avoiding his eyes anymore, her hand looking for his to intertwine their fingers.

"You're not his," he just said, because he didn't want to hear her.

"Logan, don't leave me..."

And that was it. He couldn't ignore it, not when he had waited for this forever. The last piece of determination he could have had at this point broke and he knew that they would never be over. Damn if there were consequences, damn if the situation was fucked-up, twisted and painful, damn if they cared to much or not enough, damn.

He kept thrusting into her, harder, kissing her, and he murmured a barely audible "ok" that brought her over the edge. She came in his arms, and she looked more alive than ever, she looked happy, she looked saved. The bare sight of her curly humid hair spread around her delighted face, combined with the clenching of her inner muscles made him climax, and he had to use the last strand of force he had not to fall against her.

Veronica pushed him so that she was on top of him, and kissed him languorously. When they stopped to take some air, she dropped her head on his chest, entertwined their legs, and whispered:

"I'm alive, and I'm yours."

And damn if it meant dealing with unbearable pain later.


End file.
